Barons: we imagine them as rural land magnates, shagging the wives of their miserable villein tenantry or bullying King John into signing Magna Carta. Newsflash, House of Lords-heads. There are modern, urban barons too. Barons, indeed, who stalk the very streets of our capital. Plenty of opportunity there, you’d think, for maverick aristos with amusing names. Alas no: meet the real (and imagined) Barons of London.
the baron of paddington
Who he should be: A jolly, roly-poly baron in a duffel coat, and a squashed hat concealing a marmalade sandwich. Always in some scrape or another but basically lovable. A magnificent ambassador for Britain around the world, a cunningly disguised soft-power projection of the sort of country we want people to think we inhabit.
Who he actually is: Shaun Bailey, best known for a) getting in trouble for his attendance at a lockdown-busting party at Conservative Party HQ despite being chair of the London Assembly’s police and crime committee, and having to then resign, and b) losing an election to Sadiq Khan.
the baroness of soho
Who she should be: A louche, wasp-waisted, 6’9” drag queen, only spotted between the hours in basement cocktail bars so fashionable that you’ve never even heard of them, or propping up the bar of the French House. Always smoking a cigarette through a holder; failing that, taking hard drugs and shouting at tourists that it’s ‘not a bloody theme park’.
Who she actually is: Martha Lane Fox, who made lots of money out of the Paleo-internet and now is on more committees than you’ve had overpriced Greek Street dinners.
the baron of hampton court
Who he should be: A bearded, ruddy-faced hooray, wielding enormous power with zero responsibility. Hugely fiscally unwise, full of capricious whims, with an enormous coterie of hangers-on and able to buy the friendship of the very highest in the land.
Who he actually is: Evgeny Lebedev, the bearded media baron and best mate of Boris Johnson, who elevated him to the upper house. Co-owns a pub with Ian McKellen; co-owns the Independent website and the Evening Standard. Baron of not only Hampton Court but also of Siberia, giving him by far the longest commute between his two residences.
the baron of marylebone
Who he should be: A gleaming, urbane smoothie, who owns countless high-end hotels so clean they could be hospitals and lots of private medical clinics so cushy they could be hotels, plus dozens of high-end delicatessens where nobody looks like they’re enjoying themselves.
